


Breathe Easy

by skittlium (WriterGirl128)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asthma Attacks, Bromance, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Fluffy Angst, M/M, Magic, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/skittlium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, you’d think he’d learned that following Stiles into the woods in the middle of the night didn’t usually pan out too well.</p><p>OR</p><p>The 'not-exactly-Human-AU' Human AU that no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened and I'm not entirely sure why, but it did....and I'm just kind of rolling with it.

“Hey, Scott.”

Stiles poked him in the arm.

“Scotty. Wake up.”

Still, no answer.

“Scott.”

It wasn’t until Stiles poked him in the nose while simultaneously jabbing his elbow into Scott’s side that Scott woke up—and when he did, he woke with a start, springing up in a defensive crouch, eyes glowing.

Stiles jumped back a little, holding his hands up harmlessly. “Hey, chill, just me. Little ol’ Stiles. No need for that.”

Realizing it actually _was_ only Stiles, Scott’s shoulders relaxed, eyes fading. “You scared the crap outta me,” he breathed, settling back down on the bed.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, well maybe if you weren’t such a heavy sleeper…” he started, before frowning. “That’s actually really weird, dude. You’d think ultra-sensitive werewolf senses would make it easier to wake you up. Huh.”

Scott let his eyes close, flopping back down on his bed. “Stiles, what time is it?”

“About four a.m.”

Scott groaned into his pillow. “Why are you in my bedroom at four a.m.?”

“Because I’m waking you up,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “Duh.”

Scott groaned again, though this time, it was mentally. This couldn’t be good. “Dare I ask why?” he surrendered, sitting up again.

Stiles grinned. “Because of the moon.”

Scott frowned, still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “The full moon isn’t for like, two weeks,” he protested, but it took him a minute of sleepy haze-filled thinking to figure it out.

Stiles made an excited little motion with his hands. “No, but it _is_ a new moon tonight.”

Scott covered his mouth as he yawned before shamelessly admitting, “Not gonna lie, man, but I’m still half asleep, and I have no idea what that means.”

Stiles gave him one of those patient looks, like he was explaining something to a child for the fifth time. “Scotty, the new moon is when you can’t see the moon in the sky. It’s hidden completely by the Earth’s shadow.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Well I know _that,_ smartass. I mean I don’t know why it’s important.”

Now Stiles got that excited look in his eyes again. “I was training with Deaton, right—”

Scott groaned again.

“—and he told me about this plant,” Stiles continued, glaring at Scott, “that’s like, super rare. He said it flowers only in the hours before dawn the morning after a new moon.”

“And why is this plant so important?”

Now Stiles grinned again, fidgeting with excitement. “That’s the best part— _he wouldn’t say._ He got all mysterious on me and said he had to go check on the cats in back. All he said was to stay away from it.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “We’re going.”

And that was how it started.

Scott’s always had a soft spot when it came to his eccentric best friend. He humored the odd impulses and he went along with the stupidly terrible plans. He did things to make him happy—because really, all Scott wanted was for his friends and his family to be happy. He was a sucker for Stiles’ mischievous, chestnut brown eyes, and the way he fidgets when he’s supposed to be still—all of the excited, pent-up energy that forces itself out in great flails of his arms, and insane facial expressions. Truth be told, Scott would probably go along with anything Stiles asked him to do.

Now it was twenty-four hours later, and everything was wrong.

In retrospect, you’d think he’d learned that following Stiles into the woods in the middle of the night didn’t usually pan out too well.

The second Scott woke up the next day, he knew something had changed. There was tightness in his lungs that reminded him of his asthma and his body ached like he’d been used as a punching bag—he had, in fact, trained with Derek the day before, but he usually healed from that in minutes. It made him uneasy.

He listened, the unnatural silence of his house making his lungs constrict painfully, breath quickening. He couldn’t hear his mom’s heartbeat. Where was she? He knew she wasn’t at work—and the only other place she’d be this early in the morning was, well, their house. So why wasn’t she there?

His mind immediately jumped to the worst-case-scenario—living a life straight out of a horror movie can do that to you—and he stumbled out of his bed to rush downstairs, tripping as the sheets somehow got caught on his foot and wrapped around his ankles until they were dragged halfway to the hallway. She must’ve been taken, or, or trapped—something must’ve gotten into their house and—

He skidded to a halt at the entrance to the kitchen, and there she was. Melissa McCall, very much not kidnapped and humming as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She looked up at him, amused at his almost frantic entrance. “Hey, there, kiddo. Where’s the fire?”

But Scott simply stood, frozen. She was there—she was literally standing right in front of him, happily pouring herself some coffee, with amusement in her eyes. Scott listened even harder, extending his senses—but got nothing. No heartbeat, no chemosignals—not even the smell of the toast she appeared to be burning in the toaster. He couldn’t say anything, his vocal chords unyielding. His chest tightened, and it felt like boa constrictors were wrapping around his lungs and squeezing all of the air from them.

“Scott?” Melissa asked then, amusement fading seamlessly into worry. “Sweetheart? Are you alright?”

Scott swallowed hard when her hand grasped his shoulder comfortingly, but the he couldn’t seem to take in enough air to muster up a reply. He braced himself on the counter, leaning on it because wow, his head was getting dizzy. That hasn’t happened in a while. It felt like the floor was the wall, and his head was pounding, and the little air he struggled to breathe in made no difference when it came to the black spots that were starting to dance in his vision.

As soon as he could breathe again, oh, he was going to _kill_ Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles blinked a little, not entirely grasping what Scott had told him. “You’re—you’re…” he trailed off, shaking his head. His eyes were narrowed in thought, like he was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the concept. “You’re—?”

“Human?” Scott supplied, nodding, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah. And it’s your fault.”

Now Stiles, who looked half-incredulous, half-awed, threw his hands up. “How is it my fault?” he cried, though there wasn’t much effort behind it—he was still watching Scott with calculating eyes, like he was some formula he was trying to decode.

Scott raised his eyebrows at his friend. “‘Let’s go find some magical flower that we were told not to touch,’” he reminded Stiles, who dropped his arms.

“Right.”

Scott shifted on his feet a little, not quite as steady as he usually was. He hadn’t realized how much being a werewolf had changed the little things like that—staying balanced, graceful, sturdy. It was weird. He made a face before turning away from Stiles and dropping down onto the couch, letting his eyes close. “Would you please stop staring at me like that?” he sighed.

“What?” Stiles squeaked, and though Scott’s eyes were still closed, he could easily picture the overdramatized casual expression he assumed was donning his best friend’s face. “Me? I’m not staring. I just…”

Scott nodded, opening his eyes. “You just don’t believe me,” he offered, and by the way Stiles winced at the words, he knew he was right.

“Dude,” Stiles started slowly, taking a seat next to him. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just…Derek said there wasn’t a cure unless you killed the one that bit you. And unless you snuck into Eichen to finish the job, Scotty-boy, I don’t think…” He didn’t finish, and simply shook his head.

Scott sighed, now, and it felt like a weight was tugging his shoulders down. “Then what is this?” he asked, helpless.  What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just…not be a werewolf. He had a pack to take care of. He was an Alpha—a True Alpha, too, which a lot of people resented him for. There were targets on his back, even if the deadpool had been stopped. If those people that wanted him dead found out he was human now… he’d be dead. And how was he supposed to help train Liam? It made something familiarly dreadful constrict in his chest.

_Breathe,_ he told himself, which was odd, because he hasn’t had to remind himself to do so in what felt like forever. _Breathe._

Sure, Scott had been bitter at the beginning, and had wanted to be human again. Now? He wanted his lungs back—it was like they’d been transplanted with lungs from a ninety-year-old chain smoker. He’d give anything to breathe easy again.

And though his eyes were still closed, Scott could feel Stiles’ eyes on him. He sighed wearily, opening his own. “Okay, now the staring is verging on creepy, dude. Seriously.”

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip for a second, his leg bouncing idly. He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Do something wolfy,” he said after a moment.

Scott felt his eyebrows draw together. “Stiles, I just told you—”

“That you’re human, yada yada yada. So prove it. Try to do something wolfy, and if you can, then obviously it’s just some faux-human thing. If you can’t, then…well we’ll figure that out later. Come on, there’s no harm in trying.”

So with a sigh, Scott did. He tried everything he could think of—extending his claws and canines, flashing his eyes, reaching out with his senses, hearing heartbeats or smelling…just about anything, honestly. All the while Stiles watched him carefully, as if he could figure out what was wrong simply by observing him.

After struggling for a moment, Scott closed his eyes again, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve got nothing,” he groaned, shaking his head. “God, I never thought I’d be human again. This sucks.”

Now Stiles made an indignant noise. “What’s so bad about being human?” he huffed, offended. “As the pack’s resident human, I’m kinda hurt, dude.”

“No,” Scott backtracked quickly. “No, I didn’t mean being human was bad, I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“You miss it,” Stiles finished for him. “Right?”

Scott thought about it for a second—did he actually miss it? Or was it something else? After a moment he shook his head. “That’s not it, entirely,” he sighed. “I mean, part of it is, yeah—but I don’t know. I just feel like after everything, this could end up really badly. I mean—how am I supposed to help Liam like this?”

“Are you forgetting who helped you?” Stiles pointed out, and took a little bow. “You don’t need to be a werewolf to train one. I’m proof of that. I think I did a pretty good job.”

Gratefulness bubbled up in Scott's chest, almost warm. "You did," he promised Stiles, and part of him felt that he'd never be able to thank Stiles enough for everything he'd done. Still... Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “It's just - Liam’s a bit angrier than I was, Stiles,” he pointed out. “A lot, er—more violent. If I tried to train him now, he’d end up clawing my eye out, or something.”

Stiles shuddered a little, blanching. “Too much imagery, dude,” he exhaled, shaking his head vehemently. “Way…way too much.” Then he paused. “What did you tell your mom?”

Scott sighed a little wearily. “You mean after having an asthma attack in the middle of my kitchen?” he asked, and shook his head. “Nothing. Told her I had to come here.” Then Scott winced, letting his head drop into his hands. “God, Stiles,” he groaned, “I just left. I’m horrible. I should call her, let her know I’m—”

“—human?” Stiles suggested.

“I was going to say _okay,_ but, I guess? Do you think I should tell her? I mean, she was finally getting used to all the werewolf stuff…” He trailed off, shaking his head and staying silent.

Then it was as if a light bulb lit up, like in one of those old cartoons, and Stiles’ entire stature brightened. “We should call Lydia,” he suggested. “She’ll know what to do.”

Scott raised an eyebrow at his best friend. Despite having a girlfriend, Stiles never passed up an opportunity to see Lydia Martin, accepting the platonic relationship they'd finally developed.  Scott had to admit it was kind of cute. Even if it wasn’t who they needed. “Stiles, we should call Deaton. He’s the one that told you about the flower in the first place.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “No,” he protested. “No, that’s a horrible idea, Scott, seriously. No. He told me to stay away from it—if he finds out what happened, he’ll never keep training me.”

Scott’s other eyebrow rose to join its pair. “If you had listened to him, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with—not that I’m blaming you,” he added quickly, noticing the slightly hurt look in Stiles’ eyes. “Because I’m not. I’m just as much to blame for being stupid enough to actually agree to it. I just think he’d know more about it than Lydia, don’t you?”

Stiles made a face, tapping his foot as he thought. Then he sighed. “Fine. Point taken. But I’m holding you to that whole ‘it-wasn’t-solely-Stiles’-fault’ thing. If I’m going down, you better believe I’m dragging you with me, buddy.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Naturally.”

“Hey, don’t look so smug, Mr. Human,” Stiles chided, before grinning. “I can totally kick your ass now that you’re all asthma-y again.”

“I hate you, Stiles.”

Stiles' grin grew. “I know,” he said, slinging an arm around Scott’s shoulders—a familiar touch, one that calmed some of Scott’s nerves. “Now let’s go get you checked out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from WAR pt. II by Former Vandal
> 
> It's very drabble-y, and i'm not sure how long it's going to end up, but for now it kinda has shortish chapters.


End file.
